


Nightmare

by cinnamontanks



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, My First Fanfic, Nightmares, Other, Self-Hatred, Therion (Octopath Traveler) Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 18:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18474589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamontanks/pseuds/cinnamontanks
Summary: The tears start falling just as the axe does, and he let's out a silent scream of terror before it connects with his skull and pain shoots through his head, spreading downwards along his spine. He has had this dream nearly every night since the start of his journey, and they get just keep getting worse the longer he travels with these people.**Alfyn and Darius are technically never mentioned by name.





	Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> I tried really hard, and im sort of proud of this... Normally I wouldn't post my writing, but I just... r e a l l y liked this one. I hope you enjoy my first ever post, and please feel free to let me know if there is anything I can improve on. ^^;

He can't help it. It happens almost every night. He finds himself standing on the cliff, overlooking a thin, winding river with many sharp rocks and spires. He turns around and only catches a brief glimpse of ginger hair and green cloth before he falls backwards in slow motion. The words flash through his head, the voice speaking them thick with malice and disdain. They say he's weak, useless, a waste. They tell him he's just another stupid tea leaf that's reached the end of the line.

The falling accelerates, and he is overcome with phantom pains from the scars across his body. He lands hard, his back thumping against the unseen ground. He opens his eyes, and sees 7 people standing over him, all of different shapes and sizes. He smiles weakly; he knows them.  


But then they start speaking, saying the same words his demons do. He shakes his head, not understanding. He suddenly realizes how much of a fool he's been to trust them. He doesn't deserve anyone's love or friendship, and anyone offering it to him is a liar. He can't believe he forgot that after all this time. He hates it, and he hates himself, but his heart still clenches at the thought of these people abandoning him.  


One of the bodies steps forward. Green. The same shade as the one from the cliff. He can feel his eyes stinging as tears threaten to spill. This is always the worst part.  


He tries to focus on the man before him: honey blonde hair, a green coat, a satchel... The most striking and apparent detail, though, is the large axe being held over his head. He hears the words again, but this time they are spoken in a hard country accent. Weak. Useless. Untrustworthy. Traitor.  


The tears start falling just as the axe does, and he let's out a silent scream of terror before it connects with his skull and pain shoots through his head, spreading downwards along his spine.  


He jolts awake in his bed, scrambling to grab the knife he has kept tucked under the mattress for years. He looks around in the dark wildly, his brain sending him false signals of danger. After a moment, he slows down, drops the knife onto his sheets. His face connects with his hands, and the tears slip through the cracks in his fingers as he shakes.  


He can't stay here. He isn't safe. He is a fool.  


"Therion?"  


He freezes, goes silent. He doesn't want to be seen, helped, paid attention to. He wills the source of the question to go back to sleep, but they do not. They never have before, either.  


He feels the mattress dip as another joins him, and shortly afterwards strong arms wrap around his torso. Rough but delicate hands pry his own from his face before moving to rest on the back of his head and back.  


He's still shaking and crying silently into the other's embrace, and despite everything his brain is screaming at him - danger, danger - he can't bring himself to push them away.  


"It's alright, everything is okay," they say. He doesn't believe them, but the honey sweet country voice somehow soothes him anyway.  


He'll have to leave eventually, he knows that. But for now, he'll keep pretending. After all, he really is as weak as the voice tells him.


End file.
